St Val's
by OakwoodOuroboros
Summary: It's St. Val's day and Sherwin's managed to work some courage up. Thanks go to brocsox on Tumblr for letting me use their wonderful art!


I **'m sorry for those expecting some more angst/adventure/historic stuff, but I'm still in my experimental romance phase, so here's a June one-shot for you, celebrating all the stuff you celebrate in June, and of course the soon-to-be arrival of Beth and Esteban's film! (seriously, check out their and my own Tumblr, their's is brilliant and has all the stuff about the project, and on mine it's basically the only thing I'm ranting about. Goodness, if you only judged by its content, you would think I was some weird fudanshi or something equally horrifying *shudders*. No, I reassure you (and myself), I just support the idea. Same-sex love made kid-friendly, at last! Social acceptance! DO I HAVE TO ENHANCE HOW IMPORTANT THIS IS OR IS THIS ENOUGH?!)**

 **Hum.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

Of course, no effort had been put into actually celebrating Saint Valentine's day, from the school's standpoint at least. There was a brief announcement at assembly that morning, but the real celebration came when rang the first bell for morning break.

For the first five minutes after having burst out of class, Sherwin waited in the shadow of one of the many nooks and crannies that the ancient building harboured, trying not to let his heartbeat be heard and resonate throughout the entire corridor. The last thing he needed was for anyone to find him there, clutching a suspicious cream envelope against his chest and face dark with a blush that he just couldn't suppress.

He took in several deep breaths, trying to calm his ever-nervous thoughts. Right, so the first thing he had to do was to not be detected when he tried to approach Jonathan's locker. Easier said than done, he noted, when he stuck his head out from his hiding place and observed the huge gaggle of girls surrounding said locker and the person who was the centre of all their attention. The boy didn't look flustered, however, his face always set in that cool kind of smile that just happened to be the one that made Sherwin's heart to flutter in his chest. He observed him a little longer than he really should have with the crowd and all, watching him through gaps between girl's uniforms as he struggled to open his locker, looking puzzled for a second, before it finally broke open and a tidal wave of pink, red and white surged forth and buried him instantly, only leaving his quiff visible on top.

Sherwin's heart sank a little, the girls squealed, and Jonathan nonchalantly climbed out of the mass of paper and flowers, patted himself down, then took out his books as if nothing had happened. Once he closed his locker, he moved on, the crowd following his presence like a bunch of moths attracted to a warm, slow-moving flame.

The redhead stuck his head out again, looking right, then left, as if to cross a road, before leaping towards the wooden lockers lining the whole corridor's length. Again, he looked both ways before posting his letter through the little slit at the top of the locker with the label reading 'Jonathan, year 9' stuck to it, then promptly collapsed. Fortunately, the letters and boxes from the previous onslaught meant that his fall didn't hurt too much, but despite the pain in his bashed derrière he still smiled, giddy.

He had done it. He had actually worked up his courage and done it, had posted that damn letter with every single feeling he could write on it, be it poetic or sincere. And maybe, just maybe, he had a chance. Judging by the quantity of paper littering the floor, every single girl in a three-mile radius must have gotten up extra early this morning just to add their contribution to Jonathan's locker. Maybe his lone, plain, late letter will actually stick out and get a chance at being read.

Still submerged in a mix of buzzing happiness and hope, he made his way over to his own locker at the other end of the hallway. Class was going to start soon and he needed his History book. As usual, the little click of the lock was very satisfying, amplified as it was by the nearly-empty room, but it was only when the door swung open that Sherwin froze, finally aware that something was very wrong indeed.

There, lying neatly on top of his mess of books, papers and socks, sat a red envelope.

* * *

"Sherwin! Come and help me with the washing up, will you? And get your brother to do his homework, he's at his music again!"

"Yes Mum," he answered the shout he got as soon as he stepped through the door. His mind was elsewhere, but he did manage to remember to go to Michael's room and to get him to stop playing the cello. Contrary to what was generally believed of the instrument, this one was in fact very loud and had gotten them into trouble with the neighbours on numerous occasions. Even he with his drum set wasn't as bad as his brother was, mainly because he played twenty-four seven whilst he tried to at least make sure that so one in the neighbourhood was sleeping when he did.

His ten-year old brother, although not particularly happy to have been interrupted, got to his homework pretty quickly when Sherwin promised him cookies that he was practically certain had been eaten last Friday anyway. Then, he went over to the kitchen to help his mother.

Even though he tried to maintain a seemingly normal conversation, his mind was occupied. He had not been able to take out the brightly-coloured letter all day long, even when he tried to seek some intimacy in the school bathroom, he was caught up by friends who wished to brag about dates and girls they had managed to get the phone numbers of. The walk home had been a similar slow torture, having to follow the conversation enough to nod at the right moments rather than let his mind wander where it wanted freely. Now though, between the clatter of plates being set down on the metal draining rack and the tick-tock of the cheap plastic kitchen clock, his thoughts over who could possibly be his secret admirer had come full circle, and he only yearned to tear open the thin veil of paper surrounding that secret once and for all.

Of course, there was still the possibility that it wasn't destined to him in the first place, that some air-head had not looked at the pealing label on his locker and had just assumed that it was the one of the person they were crushing on. Ana was on his right and Thomas on his left after all, two people who seemed somewhat more deserving of attention than himself. He just hoped that it wasn't a joke of some kind; that would be the biggest let-down of all.

"You've got your stuff together for cricket practice?" his mum asked out of the blue, snapping him out of his reflection, making him jump and let go of the spoon he had been drying.

"Uh, yes! Yeah, it's all in the bag."

"Well you better get going then! Look at the time!"

He glanced up at the loud clock, the black hands against the nicotine-stained yellow background showing him just how horribly, horribly late he actually was.

"Shi… I mean, gosh! I'm sorry, I'd better get going," he said, stumbling over his words as well as his own feet as he rushed out of the kitchen. The tall woman tutted as she watched her son race to the bus stop, coat hurriedly pulled on and bag slung over a shoulder. She could tell he had something on his mind, but what, she couldn't understand. Before she could link her eldest son's behaviour to the specific day of the month, she raised her eyes to the heavens as the sweet sound of the cello rattled her lungs like a drum and bass concert.

"Michael!"

* * *

Sherwin had always been a mediocre player, but today was even worst. The weather wasn't helping, but that was 'not an excuse', as the captain had no trouble reminding them, despite her own runny nose and suppressed shivers.

"Concentrate! Sherwin, what are you doing? Just..." she sighed, the heavy one that nobody liked hearing, the one that conveyed disappointment the most effectively. "Just go and sit down, go home, something. Promise me that you won't be like this next Wednesday."

The redhead shuffled his feet, readjusted the bat, before looking her straight in the eye.

"No, I'm fine, Miss. I'll stay."

"Suit yourself," she replied, turning her attention away from him to yell orders at other team members that had been slouching.

"Back on your feet, boys!", shouted the forty-something woman, taking on her own position.

No matter how much he tried to concentrate, his game was just as poor as it had been at first. It's just that today's events had been quite overwhelming emotionally for him, and despite having gone over them earlier on, he still cycled them over and over through the same thought process without being able to stop the reflection.

In the end, he was sent home early, the captain suspecting that he was ill. Usually, he would have protested more violently, actually enjoying the sport and happily partaking in it despite the weather, but today… he just wanted to get back to that letter, get it open, and end this exhausting suspense.

The car parked on the opposite side of the street, however, promised of yet more delay. This was confirmed when his sister, an overachieving student in pharmacology, burst out the front door and engulfed him in a hug no bear could possibly survive. He quickly got out of her grasp, taking a few steps away from her and greeting her more gently. The hugs he could stand, it was more the overbearing smell of chemicals that put him off when he got too close to her these days whenever she decided on visiting.

"Aww, Winny! You're still so cute and freckly!" she said, squishing his cheeks.

"Erm, thanks," he replied casually, even though his face was now sore from being used as an alternative Play-Doh.

The next half hour was spent sitting in the kitchen with everyone, exchanging pleasantries which, surprisingly, turned into a nice conversation that took Sherwin's mind away from everything. His excitement wasn't dampened though, the afterglow of the exploit that was to him to post the cream letter in Jonathan's locker something that still remained in the back of his mind, even shoving the burning curiosity that still remained surrounding the case of the mysterious letter.

"Right, this is all fine and dandy, but I suggest we all quiet down for a moment to put food in our mouths rather than waggle our tongues about whatever deadly chemical you've created. All of you, go and wash your hands! Hurry up!"

This was his chance. Dashing out before either his younger brother or older sister could even get up, he ran to the adjacent bathroom and quickly washed up, then skipped to his room, still before either of his siblings could leave the kitchen.

He slammed his door more violently than he had intended at first, but it did have the advantage of deterring anyone to come and check on him. All he needed was to get this mystery over with, impatience eating away at his gut as he pulled out the red envelope from the hidden depths of his bag.

Manipulating the paper carefully, not wanting to tear it, he unpeeled the small flap stuck down to the body of the envelope and pulled out a plain white piece of paper, folded in half, the writing probably on the inside. The redhead held his breath, but then he quickly pressed the paper open, wishing to get it over with quickly.

There was nothing wholly special about the letter: it was plain but nice, loopy handwriting, no colours or ornaments. Before he could start scanning the lines of text, however, Sherwin cringed when he heard his mother shout his name from the other end of the corridor. He didn't have time to read it, the stomping of feet on the lino announcing the upcoming presence of someone bursting through his door, so he decided on using the few seconds he had left before he had to hide the letter to check at least who had sent it. He quickly scanned the bottom of the paper, then froze.

Just next to the only embellishment present on the letter, a tiny, smiling cartoon heart, a single line curved elegantly to form a beautiful, impeccable 'J'.

Michael had been the one to interrupt his moment of bewilderment, and from which he had to hide the letter and smile at, trying to convince that everything was normal.

"Yeah, all right, you should come to the table now, though. Mum was a bit worried when you went dancing off like that," he said, not entirely convinced.

"I just forgot that I'd left something on, that's all… Yeah, my phone. I didn't want anyone to interrupt us while we were having a family reunion, that's all."

" 'Win, your phone's in your room anyway. If anyone phones you, you could just let it ring until you had a chance to phone them back. T'isn't as if you had it on you."

"Yeah, I guess so," said the redhead, deciding on playing dumb. "Sorry, I'm keeping everyone waiting, aren't I?"

"Yep, you sure are," he replied, any pretence at patience gone, visibly famished.

He followed him out and into the kitchen, still in a half-daze. The heavenly smell wafting in through the open door snapped him out of it somewhat, now fully understanding his brother's eagerness at getting back to the kitchen table. Indeed, the meal was as delicious as was to be expected for a gathering as exceptional as this one, nothing but the sound of happy munching filling the room for the next few minutes. Although Sherwin would have liked to eat more than he did, nerves and glee mixed and made him feel a little sick to the stomach. Really, this wasn't the right moment for eating. All he wanted to do was shout out and laugh and possibly run a mile, in his mind that one, curling 'J' holding so much promise. It could only be Jonathan's handwriting, after all. It was too perfect to be anyone else's, as sophisticated as a doctor's, or as a prince's, and that little cartoon heart… Childish, for him at least, but it cracked his façade just that little bit and proved to him that the feelings he described in the letter were true.

"What's the matter, Winny? You all right?" asked Beatrice, his sister, leaning over and pouting at him. "You're all silent and you've hardly eaten anything."

"You came home early from cricket as well, honey. Are you feeling sick or something?"

"N-No, I'm fine," he answered his Mum, forcing a wide smile on his face for the sake of the three pairs of eyes still staring him down. He laughed awkwardly, trying to buy himself some time as he scrabbled around in his own mind, panicking, trying to find a decent excuse. However, his laughter died down instantly when he saw his brother's face morph from concerned to evil, the dastardly ten-year-old the first to put two and two together, it seemed.

"Well, I think that..."

"I'm sick! Yeah, that's right. It's just a tummy bug, please don't worry mum, I'll be fine," he frantically cut him off. He could already feel the sweat sticking his curls to his forehead, stress-induced droplets which had nothing to do with the over-heated kitchen holding his t-shirt securely to his back.

"Really? No, I'm sorry Sherwin, I can't allow you to go to school tomorrow, that'll be putting the other children at risk. I don't want to create a pandemic by letting you go in sick."

"But Mum! Please, I promise that it'll be gone after a good night's sleep."

"I think that 'Win's in looove..."

"That's not true!" the redhead shouted, his face that he could feel crimson no doubt telling the exact opposite.

"Oh, Michael! You're right! It's Valentine's day today! I forgot all about it. Come on, Winny, who is it you like? Is she nice?"

Knowing that fighting would only prove their point, Sherwin slumped back down in his seat, eyes not leaving his half-finished meal. He picked up his fork, poked at the broad beans on his plate before spearing one and nervously nibbling on it, as if it would bite back.

"Come on, what's her name? Do I know her?" his over-enthusiastic sister asked him for what must have been the thousandth time. For a second, Sherwin looked up from his food to glance at Michael, who was now leaning back in his chair with a smirk on his face, basking in his brother's embarrassment.

"Stop being a pain, dear. Sherwin, I'm just happy that you're not ill, that's all that's important to me. Honey, do you want some more veggies?" their mother asked Beatrice, who accepted easily. The redhead sighed in relief, happy that at least she was on his side. She believed that from a certain age, children were responsible enough to take care of certain matters by themselves unless they seeked her help out actively. Most of the time, the siblings resented this way they had been brought up, the method having as much good as bad consequences, but in this case Sherwin was extremely glad that this was the case.

His meal was finished off in relative silence after this, Michael wolfing down the rest of his meal and bolting off before anyone else, Sherwin having enough conscience to finish off his plate before doing the same thing minutes later. He skipped up the stairs, letting his grin loose after having had to hold it in for so long. Finally, he was going to be able to read the letter without being interrupted, to know for sure what Jonathan thought of him, then plan out what he was going to say to him tomorrow. Maybe he'd get his number, and yet again maybe, if he was lucky, a date, and…

The door to his room was slightly ajar, and if one listened closely, one could hear giggles from inside.

His door slammed against the wall so brutally that several books fell from his shelves, and a piece of loose plaster detached from the ceiling, whitening his bright hair by a shade. Michael was on his bed, still laughing his face off as he held a piece of paper in his hand, the red envelope that had once contained it lying crumpled on the floor.

"Michael," he said, a deeply threatening voice he didn't know he even possessed escaping his lips. His brother stopped laughing immediately, the smile disappearing little by little off his face as he realised that he had done something very wrong indeed.

"Get. Out."

Still with a brave smirk, even though it was wobbly from fear, his little brother escaped the room quickly under Sherwin's angry, but also hurt and terrorised gaze, things that in themselves were more frightening than if he had only been shouting at him.

Being the cocky little kid he was though, he couldn't help but have the last word before the door was slammed in his face, something that would reassure him on the fact that he had stayed in control of the situation the whole, time, as immature as he knew it was:

"Sherwin and Jessica sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-"

SLAM.

Sherwin immediately broke as soon as his nosy little brother was out of sight, falling to his knees on the worn rug and trying to keep all his conflicting emotions together.

That had been close. Very close.

For a few seconds, he had been terrified that he had been found out. There was no saying how people would react if they ever discovered that he wasn't exactly attracted to the kind of person a boy was usually attracted to, especially his family. He had heard so many stories that he felt nauseous even thinking about it all. He was disappointed with his brother as well, he wouldn't have thought that he would have intruded so easily on something that he considered as being so private. Of course, he didn't know, he was only in it for the laughs. He was only ten.

But the last thing he had said. Jessica. To tell the truth, once he had read the initial, he had not thought of anyone other than the school's golden boy. There was Jessica, the enterprising rocker girl who wore thick glasses, but was one of their art class's finest and who could easily match the beauty of Jonathan's curly letters and his perfect prose.

Spirits too low and mortification too strong to bother getting up from the ground, Sherwin crawled over to the bed, pulled himself up onto the covers, snatching up the letter and the envelope and smoothing them down to help them recover from the rough treatment that his brother had imposed upon them, before unfolding the letter yet again, more carefully than he had done before. The text still stood out at him in its long sweeping curves, the tiny, pink-coloured heart at the bottom smiling at him and seeming to egg him on.

Come on, you can do it.

He read the whole thing in one go, then reread it again, just to savour the words, then a third time, admiring the sweep of the letters across the nice creamy paper. It spoke of lightness, of kindness, of fragility; nothing that he would have expected from a Valentine's love letter, nothing passionate, nothing that ignited the heart and burned the mind into fanaticism. Simply, purely, the admittance of a crush, one that had lasted for years, by the looks of things, but that had always been repressed by shyness and uncertainty. There was something that reminded him of himself a little in that letter, and in retrospect, he wondered whether he had written something similar himself in the one he had addressed to Jonathan. Still, as was to be expected by his brother's reaction, there was nothing that indicted for certain the identity of the person who had written it. Only the 'J' clued him to anything at all.

Before leaving his room, he remembered to stash the letter more consciously than he had before. Even though he doubted that his brother would come back soon, it wasn't impossible that his big sister would do the same as he had, and he knew for a fact that his dissuasive presence wouldn't work as well as it had on him. He trailed back to the living room, where everyone had decided to converge around the TV. The redhead would have hoped not to be noticed by his family, slumping discretely in the chair in the furthest corner of the room, but it was not counting on Beatrice's remarkable eagerness to immerse herself into her brother's private life.

She turned around completely in her seat, throwing an arm around the back of the sofa like a young girl despite being in her late twenties and grinned at him widely, the gleam in her eyes definitely not a good omen.

"So am I going to get any juicy details about this 'Jessica' then?" she half-whispered. Their mother shot them a glance, before returning her attention back to the news. Sherwin didn't answer her, hoping that she would lose interest if he ignored her for long enough, but that was him not taking in account her fundamental nature.

She stared at him for minutes longer, but once she realised that she wasn't going to get anything out of him this way, she stood up, walked up to where he was sitting, and simply hauled him over her shoulder and out of the room.

He struggled, he kicked, but it was no use. Being the only skinny kid in the family had always been to his disadvantage, and it wasn't uncommon for various members of said family to carry him around, most of the time against his will. This was one such case, and when he was plopped down on his sister's bed, a cloud of dust erupting from sheets that hadn't been slept in for months, he wondered how he was going to get out of this mess.

She sat down heavily in her desk chair, and simply looked him straight in the eye. He saw in her stance that Michael had done his deed and told her about the letter. It was difficult to evade her gaze, especially when she started asking questions.

"Please Sherwin, just answer with a yes or a no. Is she nice?"

"Yes," he answered reluctantly. As long as it was just this kind of detail, he could afford to answer truthfully, if he disregarded the female pronouns as well.

"Is she cute?"

"Er...yes.

Goodness, this was going to be more difficult than he had first thought. If he started thinking about his crush, he wouldn't be able to stay focused and might reveal more than he intended with his dreamy, distracted train of thought to his dear sister.

"Does she like someone else?"

"I don't know."

That had brought him back to earth, the realisation dropping on him like a piano from a window. It must have shown in his face, because his interrogator left him a few seconds to recover before she took off from where she had stopped.

"Have you liked her for a long time?"

"Yes."

And it was true. Since he had discovered his own non-conventional attraction.

"Does she know you like her?"

"I think so… Maybe. No, definitely not."

He wished so badly that the letter had gotten through, but on the other hand, he had a deep fear that it had. He had poured everything he had into that piece of paper, he had made himself more vulnerable than he had ever done before, and if it wasn't met well, he wasn't sure what he'd do. And evenif, that blessedifthat remained like a star, hanging distant and unattainable in his mind's eye, anything ever came of this, he wasn't sure if he'd be really able to deal with it.

"Would you treat her with respect?"

"Yes."

There was no questioning that, he wouldn't ever dream of hurting him in any way. The only problem was that it would be difficult to own up to Jonathan's brilliance, and the chances were that he'd only become as a smudge on his vest after the novelty had worn off. Not that he minded being such, but he really wanted to be worthy of him, if such a thing was possible. Maybe even, but this was the biggest, most ridiculous idea of them all, become his equal. Maybe not to others, but in his eyes at least. Yes, that would be perfect.

"Would you leave her for someone else?"

Sherwin's eyes snapped up to his sister, the same cold look he had given his brother earlier reappearing, but this time no fear, but rather determination filled it and gave him an incredibly strong aura which seemed frightening and all in all out of place on the young boy.

"Never."

"Well, that settles it, then," Beatrice said, getting up and patting herself down, dust having accumulated on her knees in the short time they had been sitting in the room. "I'll get back to Coronation Street, then. Weird how they show it later these days," she mused, talking more to herself than to her brother. He was about to swing his legs off the high bed when she turned around, throwing him a smile that was more encouraging rather than nagging this time over.

"Hey, Sherwin? Good luck, you deserve her," she affirmed, honesty ringing in her tone.

"Th-thanks," he replied, stuttering. Nobody had ever encouraged him in this kind of domain before, even though admittedly, he had never revealed before today that he even had a romantic side to his personality. He fell rather than jumped off the bed, cringing when he saw the clear trace he had left in the disturbed dust on the bed and the floor.

Although usually he was interested in the soap and followed it as avidly as his mother and brother, tonight seemed to him to be more of a night for daydreams rather than following the television series. He therefore poked a head into the packed living room and said his good-nights, mostly grunts, but one 'Night-night, Lover Boy!' answering him loud and clear. However, the redhead was not in the mood to rectify Michael right now, and simply walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth and brush plaster out of his locks.

He didn't sleep a wink that night, going through waves of anxiety that succeeded to ones of complete and utter joy, having to get up and switch his desk lamp on several times in order to read the letter again and again, trying to analyse the handwriting at times to determine the gender of the person on the other end of the pen, but at other times simply to admire the prose and the way the words flowed, every time pinkening his cheeks just that little bit and making him smile.

All he could say was that by next morning he only had a pair of huge purple bags under his eyes, a perfect memory of every single line of text that was written in the letter, and a huge smile to show for his night. Surprisingly, Michael was the first one up, making toast with some strange mix of different jams that were hanging around the cupboards that Sherwin didn't even complain to when it was set in front of him.

"Wow, I didn't think that it wasthatbad. Hey, 'Win, you're sure you're up to going to school today?"

"Huh?" the person he had addressed answered stupidly, head jerking up and panic flaring at the idea that he could possibly lose the one occasion he had to cross paths with Jonathan. "What were you saying?"

"Nothing," his brother sighed, too exhausted from his own insomnia-plagued night to actually tease Sherwin properly. He still let a knowing smile cross his lips for a second, though. A shame that Beatrice wasn't up yet, she would have been basking in 'Win's lovestruck aura if she had, drinking in the mushiness like water.

As was to be expected, the person in question quickly downed his milk and food before exiting to the bathroom. There, he hogged the mirror for hours, brushing down every strand of hair as well as he could and debating on using concealer on his horrible-as-usual skin, but finally deciding to leave his sister's make-up bag to the side. If anyone noticed, it word would spread and would probably follow him around all day if that was the case.

It took longer for him to walk to school than usual, he judged, all the while patting his hair down to insure that it stayed well combed down. Yet again, it was still early enough in the morning for the mist from the nearby river to still be hanging on the streets, making navigation difficult and at times perilous. It was his fault; after all, he had set out way before he usually did, and will probably have a whole half-hour to himself before students started filing into the assembly room. That didn't matter. It meant that he had more time to ready himself.

He didn't spot Jonathan for the next few hours, to his great dismay, or else he was too surrounded by other people to actually be visible to him. English was long and dreary, filled with daydreams and absent-minded squiggles on his notebook, something that he wouldn't usually do if he could help it, even though today he actualy did have a reason other than boredom to not pay attention in class. It was only, as it had before, the bell that saved him and meant he could go to the corridor lined with lockers.

The few people hanging around were not that problematic, all of them seemingly minding their own business. The redhead took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and with precaution, before putting his plan into action.

It was quite simple, actually: he will walk up to Jonathan, smiling, and would wait to see whether he received a response. Depending on his reaction to him approach, he will know whether his letter had been read or whether it had joined the others, lining the school's great green dustbins.

Sherwin started to walk towards the lockers stiffly, his legs weighing a ton, feeling like he was going against retreating waves on a beach when the tide's on its way out, but he kept his steps regular anyway, trying for all he was worth to not slow down. He felt that if he did, he would lose courage and will never get another chance.

He had been walking so purposefully that he only spotted her at the last second: paint-stained uniform, large spectacles and hair that even though it was in dreadlocks and tied up trailed halfway down her back. Not only that, but she was smiling, and looking athim.

Panic took hold of him, and he slowed down abruptly. He glanced over to Jonathan quickly, seeing that he had his head still in his locker, before his eyes returned to the girl still quickly advancing towards him. She held a handful of papers in her hand, ones that looked like they were supposed to be for the school trip they were scheduled to go on in a few days.

"Hi there, Sherwin! Can you come here a second?"

He did so, walking reluctantly towards the girl. Her smile was too wide. This was not good.

"Here's your paper, to be filled in by next week."

Again, he glanced over her shoulder, sneaking a peek at Jonathan. When he did so, his heart collapsed. There, with a hand on his shoulder and laughing a blonde-American-high-school-girl laugh stood Samantha, writing with her other hand something on a piece of paper. And he was smiling back at her.

Nervously, trying to keep his composure together, he turned back to the still-waiting Jessica. She looked like she was expecting something more, and for an instant his previous panic returned, before he caught sight of the list where he had to write his name down, insuring that he had indeed received the paper. Mutely, he took the pen that was being offered to him and added his name to the list. Before she could take it back, his eyes travelled up the list, seeking out Jonathan's name, but he didn't find it. Instead, he froze in shock when he caught sight of the exact script that had been used in the letter that his eyes had taken in over and over again, the same loopy letters spelling out the name 'Jessica A.'

"Meet me at the music room later on, there'll be a surprise waiting there for you," she said as a parting, winking at him as she did.

Sherwin didn't say anything, simply turned around and sprinted away. He didn't mind Jessica, but he couldn't feel it in himself to deal with this right now. The tears pricking at his eyes were threatening to overflow, and indeed they did, but only once he was safely sitting in the shadow between the two big green dumpsters bursting with rejected love letters, one of which without a doubt contained his. The disappointment was so great that he let out a howl, before pulling into fetal position and muffling it, tears and snot bleeding into the fabric at his knees.

Jonathan had surely thrown his letter in the bin. He was meant to be with Samantha, Jessica liked him, she was the one who had written that letter, and that was that.

"Hey, Jon!"

Jonathan turned around, away from Samantha's retreating, giggling form, his usual cool expression breaking into a warmer smile as he looked Jessica's way. They had known each other since they were kids all the way through primary school, where they had learned to write together, and, as a joke, used exactly the same style so they could mix up their homework and confuse the teachers. They hadn't thought that the neat curly handwriting would stick and become the one they would use even today in secondary, where print was more widely present, but it was still a nice thing they had in common.

"What's the matter?" he asked, seeing the little pinch in her brow which usually announced a bit of a temper in his long-time friend.

"It's nothing, really, just Sherwin," she answered, flicking a bunch of her long dreadlocks over her shoulder. Jonathan froze, lost his composure for maybe a second, but fortunately Jessica had been looking elsewhere.

"What's he done to annoy you?" he asked carefully.

"Well, I was going to hand him this slip he has to fill in for the school trip, you know, the one that his parents have to sign so that he can go and visit that museum in Wales, and he wouldn't even say hi or anything. He was looking all shifty and off, like he was nervous or something. And then after that, I asked him to come to the music room after class. I really wanted him to be drummer in our band, I know how much he loves that instrument and he's really good at it, but then he just turned tails and ran! I can't believe it! It's put me off giving these papers out, I tell you. I don't want anyone else pulling something like that on me."

"I guess you could just give the papers back to the teacher and explain that you didn't manage to catch up with all the students. Besides, aren't you doing this voluntarily?"

"Pff… Yeah, you're right. I'm tired of running around anyway. I've got painting and band practice to get back to! Have a nice day, don't let your popularity suffocate you!" she answered finally before strolling off towards the arts room.

"Don't worry, I won't! See you later!"

Once she had rounded the corner, he glanced down the empty corridor, checking right and left to see whether there was anyone still loitering in the hallways. When he confirmed that there was indeed nobody, he quickly retreated to one of the many nooks and crannies of the room, the precise one where, unbeknownst to him, Sherwin had stationed the day before, waiting for him to move on so he could post his letter in his locker.

He slumped against the wood-panelled wall, and after checking his surroundings one last time, he broke down; he couldn't cry, he wouldn't let himself, so instead only dry sobs escaped him.

Jonathan had hoped. He had hoped so, so much that the 'S' signed at the bottom of the lone letter he had received yesterday afternoon wasnotfrom Samantha. Only he and one other person in the school wrote in the same, semi-illegible scrawl, he reflected, pulling out the piece of paper where the blonde had written her phone number down, yet another to add to the hundreds of others already cluttering his phone's contact list. But Jessica's oblivious recounting of her tale had dashed his hopes completely.

He pulled into fetal position and howled in frustration, the sound muffled by his knees.

Sherwin had surely thrown his letter in the bin. He was meant to be with Jessica, Samantha liked him, she was the one who had written that letter, and that was that.

* * *

 **I'm not a huge fan of cricket, I just remember a few things about it from years back, but I didn't bother researching it because I didn't really want to expand on it anyway. If I get anything wrong, please tell me though.**

 **All Ocs are random, but all resemblance with actual people is no coincidence. ;)**

 **Also, there should be more romance fics coming soon, Pinescone ship if you like it as well as probably some more JoSh (do you like the ship name I invented? I do, so I'll just keep using it.)**

 **Right, so I think, it's high time for me to get back to revising for finals now. May be a good idea not to fail :P**


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